


Witcher Bits: Lambventures

by tnico



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 'i'll steal my own gag! no one will ever know!!', Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comic, F/M, Fanart, Gen, Headcanon, Humor, Lambert POV, Lambert says "fuck" a lot, Lambert-centric, M/M, Meta, OCC - original cat character, lbr mostly it's just various rudeboy witcherman antics, pairings and characters added when i add them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 14,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24579724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnico/pseuds/tnico
Summary: A sampling of fragments of punchlines, minifics, and meta I'm now in part putting on my tumblr! But the aggregate and longer things will likely be here. Predictably Lambert-centric, though I'll tag the characters and pairings as they come.Latest:bioware pc mindset vs. bethseda pc mindset (meta, gen)blink and you'll miss it (Letho, T, humor, minific)
Relationships: Aiden & Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Lambert/Keira Metz, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Lambert/Keira Metz
Comments: 332
Kudos: 182





	1. home base!!

hello! this is basically just to serve as a repository of all my one-off punchlines and fragments and occasional meta i have lying around without anywhere to go. the sort of stuff i'd be putting on my tumblr if i... had a tumblr, basically.

UPDATE: i now have [a tumblr.](2nico.tumblr.com) consider this an alternate inbox and way to contact people. you can hit me up there or here. it is all good.

(also, just to clarify, i consider it a minific if it has a what i deem a coherent and complete-enough narrative and a snippet when it's, well. *snip* here ya go*)

CONTENTS

0\. home base!!

1\. Just Lambert (Lambert & Vesemir, gen, humor, minific)

2\. Just a Horse (Lambert, gen, minific)

3\. Two Takes at the Waffle House (Lambert/Keira, gen, Lambert/Aiden, T, modern au minifics)

4\. Hymn to the Moral Asshole (Lambert-adjacent rambling, meta)

5\. if it's not one thing (Lambert & Geralt, T, humor, comic)

6\. au take: daemons (lambert-adjacent rambling, headcanons)

7\. an illustrated cliffnote for that which is difficult (Vesemir, gen, humor, comic)

8\. Weird About Horses (Geralt, Lambert, & Eskel, T, humor, minific)

9\. Lambert the Cat Bully: Genesis (Lambert & Geralt, gen, minific)

10\. Lambert the Cat Bully: Realization (Lambert & Keira, hinted Lambert/Keira, Original Cat Character, gen, humor, minific)

11\. Lethoventures Ascendant (Geralt & Letho, gen, humor, comic)

12\. Yet Another Lethoventure and let's talk the REAL gwent nerfs (Letho, Francesca, gen, humor, comic)

13\. Some Thoughts On Geralt (Geralt-centric rambling, meta)

14\. Some Thoughts On Gennefer Re: Geralt (Geralt-centric more than it's Gennefer centric imo, rambling, meta)

15\. Metaphorical (Lambert & Geralt, Eskel, gen, snippet)

16\. Beyond Good & Letho (Geralt & Eskel & Lambert, humor, gen, minific)

17\. the working title for this was 'lad antics' and i haven't thought up a better one! (Lambert & Aiden, humor, T, minific)

18\. I wish you would write a fic where… prompt roundup (Various, Lambert-centric, humor, gen-to-T, minifics & snippets)

19\. counting stars (Aiden/Lambert and Keira/Lambert, gen, fic pitch)

20\. bioware pc mindset vs. bethseda pc mindset (meta, gen)

21\. blink and you'll miss it (letho, gen, humor, minific)


	2. Just Lambert (Lambert & Vesemir, gen, humor, minific)

"Right, yeah," Lambert says, nonchalant. "Think I'm gonna go with 'Fuckoff'."

Vesemir stares.

"What? It's Redanian. Well," Lambert amends, after a moment, "Probably."

Vesemir slowly shuts his eyes, one hand rising to rub at his temple. "Lambert," he answers, the forced placidity better indication his patience's fraying than anything else, "We're not going to let you go around telling people 'Fuckoff' is your last name."

_"Then fuck off with pressing for a last name,"_ Lambert says, giving Vesemir one of those grins that bares all his teeth.


	3. Just a Horse (Lambert, gen, minific)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: non-explicit animal death

The thing is, Lambert's never _owned_ a creature before, not really.

In his youth there'd been a general kinship to the stray dogs in the town, how they were skinny but clever in how they lurked and learned and fought with their all-of-them no matter the fight. With the barn-cats it was more like competition, mostly during the winters when people were offering coin for rats by-the-tail.

The idea of owning one had been written off from the start; he could barely manage to get _himself_ fed in his day-to-day, like hell would he take on _another_ mouth to feed.

Owning a _horse_ hadn't even been a conceivable fantasy. If Lambert had even been the sort to lay around fantasizing about gods bearing gifts like his mom, he figured he'd have kept it to the livestock that made a sustainable living. A cow, maybe, or at least a goat, a handful of chickens-- or, no.

(They'd tried for a chicken, scrimped and saved and got a hen and were planning to get themselves a rooster on loan when dad had finally stumbled home from wherever-the-fuck-cares, strangled the hen to death in the yard, and demanded his mom cook it for his dinner. Left not even the marrow in the bones for them to pick over. His mother had stopped all the talk about getting chickens, after that.)

But here he was, having finally lopped off enough monster heads to now be in possession of his very own horse. A good one, all told. Every witcher on the Path came back in the winter with their own firm opinions on breeds, quality, and horseflesh. It meant the lessons were less droning lecture and more spirited debate that had more than once even come to blows, which meant he'd actually paid enough attention to pick up a thing or two.

He'd gotten his hands on a mongrel of a gelding: uncertain breed and claybank dun coat, warmblooded and broken-in. The gelding's even-tempered, but it's not a dull complacency. There's a spark of engagement with the world that hasn't been beaten out of him yet, and Lambert's counting on that to carry through the process of careful acclimatization required to build up the skills required to be a proper witcher's horse.

(Yeah, he could always use Axii, but he _owns_ the gelding, now. That means there's _responsibility_ and shit. Sure, he's technically Lambert's, but he lives and breathes and _thinks_ and maybe Lambert was looking forward to having someone he could consider a partner no matter what horrible thing he might say when he's seething-mad and can't not. Maybe, a bit.)

Lambert's already firmly decided he's not going to name his horse until they're a few days into this new arrangement, at least. It'd always struck him personally as entirely backwards, the way people named the kid or pup or foal at the very start. Seems like you could at least wait until they're more than squawling, squinched-up flesh-potatoes, get a sense of who they _are_ before you start declaring who they'll _be_.

It's not even about names having power, for all that they really do. It's that names give _shape_ , raise expectations, and it seems nearly intrusive to slap something shaping on a creature at the stage when it's almost entirely formless. A shy kid's got enough problems without names-to-fill like Scarlett or Brutus or whatever on top.

So Lambert'll keep his expectations leashed 'til at least after he knows what he's expecting. It's his first horse. He just-- wants it done right. Wants to do right by him. That's all.

* * *

The next day, Lambert returns just in time from his piss to witness the tail-end of the truly massive basilisk's swooping grab. It wrenches the sapling he'd tied the horse to halfway out of the ground before the rope snaps. The horse itself doesn't stand a chance.

Lambert listens to the fast-fading humming throb the basilisk's wings make as it rises over the tree-tops, its quarry dangling limply in its grip. Must be one of the mute breeds, if its wings are making a sound like that, he notes blankly. The Bestiary had classified the noise as difficult to describe until you've heard it yourself. That's why he didn't recognize it. At least, Lambert considers, as he watches the two shapes on the horizon grow smaller and smaller, he'll never forget what it sounds like now.

He considers, still blankly, going after the basilisk, hunting it down. Avenging some horse he didn't even know. Now he never will, he supposes.

In the end, he walks on to the next village. Someone should have put out a contract for that basilisk, if it's hunting this close to them. And Lambert needs the money, if he's going to buy another horse.

* * *

"Her name?" Geralt asks, petting the nose of Lambert's newest horse. This one's grey.

Lambert stares blankly off into the middle distance as he speaks. "Its name is 'a horse', Geralt. Its name is 'a horse'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> footnotes: yes, the mute swan has [a very distinctive wingbeat.](https://www.bl.uk/collection-items/mute-swan-cygnus-olor-wingbeats)


	4. Two Takes at the Waffle House (Lambert/Keira, gen, Lambert/Aiden, T, modern au minifics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by anoke's [waffle house fic!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199108) go read!! i thought up a few gags when i saw the prompt, but not enough to make a proper a fic on either of the pairings, so. here ya go!

**Lambert/Keira**

" _I'll kill him_ ," Lambert seethes as he stalks through the door, tearing his jacket off and hurling it onto the couch.

"Lambert," Keira replies. She hasn't looked up from her phone. "It's eggs."

"We _came_ from fucking eggs, Keira."

"By technical definition, honey, but that's not how biology works."

"All right, so maybe it's not about the fucking eggs," Lambert counters. "He has disrespected me, he has disrespected my _traditions_ , he has disrespected _my family_ , he has disrespected _you_ \--"

"Lambert, we've been over this," Keira cuts in patiently, "I am not an extension of you."

" _You're my family,_ " Lambert hisses.

Keira raises an eyebrow. "Is that a proposal?"

Lambert rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. "Of course it's not my _proposal_ , Keira, it's not even close to Belleteyn--"

There's a moment of long silence, broken when Lambert makes an inarticulate noise of rage and snatches up his jacket again, shoving it on as he stalks back towards the door.

"And you're going off to fight with that Waffle House cook," Keira surmises with a long sigh.

_"He ruined my proposal,"_ Lambert snarls to the air without looking back.

"Honey," Keira says, "You did that. He works at the Waffle House."

There's no answer but the door shutting behind him with the sort of vigor that suggests it'd really like to be a slam but doesn't want to be scolded again about cracking the doorframe.

Keira sighs again and heads towards the bathroom. At least she'd already had the hunch she'd need to restock their first aid kit.

* * *

**Lambert/Aiden**

"Wait," the cooks says. He's testing the bruise on his jaw. "So we weren't flirting?"

Lambert stares flatly as best he can from around the frozen pack of pre-made hash browns he's repurposed as an ice pack.

"Just, _I_ thought we were flirting," the cook says.

Lambert gestures incredulously. "I literally refer to you as my nemesis."

"Well, yeah," the cook agrees. "But I thought it was in, y'know, the fun, sexy way."

Lambert's moved on to exasperated, now, shifting the hash browns off his eye for more ease-of-gesturing. "The _sexy-fun_ \-- no! There is nothing fun _or_ sexy about _regularly coming to blows in the parking lot of a Waffle House!!"_

"You always get hard, though," the cook notes, pointing downwards. Lambert presses his lips together and crosses his arms, then resents the defensiveness of the gesture and defiantly uncrosses them.

"Fuck off, it's a result of the adrenaline and an elevated blood flow and it's a _natural reaction_ ," he snaps.

The cook nods repeatedly. "See? And we've even been reading the same websites! We've got so much in common already!"

"You're my _nemesis_ ," Lambert stresses again through gritted teeth.

"Actually, it's Aiden," his nemesis corrects with a grin, holding out a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of the reasons i think keira would be a good pair for lambert is because when lambert's off on a "send me your address so i can visit you and explain my passions" tear she seems the type to just think "there he go" and wave him goodbye


	5. Hymn to the Moral Asshole (Lambert-adjacent rambling, meta)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. don't feel obligated to read this i write out my thoughts to get them in order but i did not take the second step here and edit down the finished product whoops

i saw a post... somewhere on tumblr where someone found lambert casually calling eskel ugly to be cruel given his complex, and as my thoughts on it tied in to my thoughts on writing lambert and lambert-type characters, i felt due for a RAMBLE.

first: the moral asshole

basically, what we have here is i see lambert as part of a character archetype i've termed the Moral Asshole. (note that when i say "moral" i don't necessarily mean GOOD or ADVISABLE morals, but as in having a strong moral code, even if the code basically comes out to "be a big ol' dick all the time.")

this was actually something i first felt out myself when i was roleplaying regularly, and then applied to my writing of lambert. i wanted to create an rp character who was a grade-A dick. simply done, right? well, not when you're rping. rp is not just story-telling, it's _collective_ story-telling.

this means that if you create a character who is fundamentally intolerable, well, the other characters you're playing with don't actually have to tolerate your character. simple as that. which left me with a dilemma: how do i create a character who is undeniably an asshole, consistently acts like an asshole, yet has enough qualities in counter that people would actually keep him around anyway?

while trying to solve this, i hammered out the rules to writing the moral asshole, and saw it applied to great success (as in, objectively. i launched the character and people kept on keeping him around, though he is and will always be a MASSIVE asshole.)

the key to making that brand of asshole tolerable, i found, was in the strength of their morality. an asshole with a code they will stick to 'til the end is tolerable not because of the positive qualities of the code; it doesn't have to be overtly positive at all. what makes it tolerable is that the asshole is always _consistent_ to the code and always _indiscriminate_ in applying it, even to themself.

that is made their saving grace. there is a respect to tap into for being reliably morally consistent come what may, even if the moral code involved involves being a big ol' dick all the time. this is what makes the moral asshole character different from the jerk with a heart of gold archetype.

the appeal of the gold-hearted jerk is those moments and circumstances when they blink first on the assholery, twitch aside the curtain, and show that deep down, they're not _really_ an asshole. meanwhile, what makes the moral asshole appealing is the fact that they will never, ever blink on the assholery, and their curtain does not need to be pulled aside. it's one of those transparent shower ones. what is behind the curtain is an asshole and never pretended to be otherwise, and it will be asshole all the way down, because they are committed to their code.

therein lies the appeal: a strong moral consistency, in the face of anything you can throw at them. even when they'll take an L for it, or suffer themselves, they will not flinch and they will not deviate. a character who walks a straight line through life, no matter whose feet they may step on in their way, is made tolerable in doing so by having them keep walking that path just the same even when it's leading them through fire and broken glass. (discworld's sam vimes comes to mind, here, though he's not as overtly vitriolic as the moral assholes i've written.)

there's a reason why cultures tend to memorialize those who display a clear honor, at times even if they were the enemy! we tend to respect those who walk the walk all the way to the end, even if we don't respect the direction they chose for it. true moral purity is compelling; people may not _like_ the moral asshole, but they can _trust_ them to stick to their code. the selling point of the moral asshole is not the assholery itself, it's the reliability people can put on them to always be an asshole, no exceptions.

this leads in to the code being indiscriminate. there can be no special cases or deviations from the code because of a personal or affectionate bias, because that would invalidate their consistency, and without the unflinching consistency they'd just be, well, a run-of-the-mill asshole! hypocrisy and exceptionalism in _any_ case is the sudden death of the character's appeal. to stay compelling, the code must always come first, before others and _definitely_ before themself.

(that doesn't mean they have to be indiscriminate as an asshole, mind. but they must _always_ be an asshole in situations where their code dictates they'd be an asshole.)

another saving grace of being indiscriminate is the requirement they can take exactly what they dish out. if they face negative behavior that similarly aligns to their personal code, them's the breaks: they're committed. a moral asshole who is reflected on must take it with grace to maintain their moral consistency. no exceptions, not for anything.

which brings me (finally) to lambert, who i write specifically as a moral asshole, because that's what i picked up off him from the vidyagame. that's (so i think) the point of the writers emphasizing his unswaying loyalty in tandem to his assholery: by showcasing the lamboy's ride-or-die, we know that lambert has strong morals, even if they're not actually _good_ morals. similarly, the fact that he will take being one-upped on the dickishness front is redeeming. he may be playing an entirely different social game with different cards and different rules than the norm, but he isn't a cheater, and he isn't a sore loser.

so lambert picks on eskel because lambert picks on everyone for everything, and there can be no exceptions to this rule. everything's on the table for a roasting, and if he deems one thing as "too much", he invalidates the entire premise that lambert picks on everyone for everything. an exception for eskel's scars when he doesn't make exceptions for triss's means he has exceptions, and if he's picking and choosing what is and isn't an exception based on personal bias, that just makes him your average asshole.

though i wouldn't be worried on eskel's front anyway, specifically on the case of lambert! eskel knows this is how he works. eskel knows everything's on the table, and that lambert aims for things not so much because he has problems with the content but because he can pick up it's a cause for personal insecurity. it's mean, yes, because he's mean, but because he's mean to everyone about everything it becomes his baseline. lambert will always, reliably, act like lambert. it is how he is. it's the very rude language he uses to communicate.

honestly, i'd even think lambert leaving off on eskel's appearance might probably be worse! if gives-no-fucks mcrudeboy is willing to put everything on the table but not that, it would give it far more weight and significance than lambert keeping it on the table with the rest of it does. i don't think leaving a glaring hole in his normal mode of behavior would be terribly good for eskel's self-conciousness.

in conclusion, lambert is an asshole, and will always be an asshole, but at least you can trust the guy to always, invariably, be an asshole about it.

edit to add: holy shit it just occured to me that may be the core of the reason he so virulently dislikes triss. she may be nice and kind, but she had proved, twice now, she has no honor (she knows what she did), which to someone who works not on a scale of good vs. bad but morally consistent vs. morally inconsistent, would be an absolute anathema to him. her crimes would ideologically outweigh her virtues, in his mind.


	6. if it's not one thing (Lambert & Geralt, T, humor, comic)

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been holding off doing an art because i'm still waiting to see if Very Handsome ginger lambert is going to overtake my mental image of him provided he's Done Right (and also lol i started dipping into fanfic specifically because i wasn't drawing shit for all the scripts i had) but i found this half-done in my files today and i love me a good visual gag
> 
> tell me if the images are too large/messed up! i got me a different resolution on my screen so my approach to sizing for the internet is basically "post, pray"
> 
> edit: ah damn i knew i lost something when shifting layers around uhhh well i drew geralt younger looking so let's say lambert's got no scars because he's also younger. might fix it later but honestly it'd be a pain so.


	7. au take: daemons (lambert-adjacent rambling, headcanons)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part of this is a repost from my newest Actual Fic, but i'm charmed by my own further headcanons and this IS supposed to be for the things i'd put on a hypothetical tumblr, so,

*ahem*

my argument as to why lambert's daemon would be (or would have been if your AUs gonna be all SAD) a wolverine 

  * wolverine? tough little motherfucker. thirty-odd pounds of angry that can take down grown moose. also, at least one polar bear on record.
  * to draw a memetic parallel, compare to honey badger don't care. wolverines, they care. they care _so much._
  * terrible manners
  * communicates mostly through snarls
  * is called wolverine but thinks actual wolves ain't shit
  * that's all i got. my case? rested



i consider the above to apply to shifter-type or guardian spirit aus, but i've got some further headcanons for daemons specifically

lambert's daemon:

  * goes by mal
  * only they and lambert know what it's short for
  * will bullshit what it's short for whenever asked. past answers have included "malignancy, nancy for short", "malice aforethought", "that fucking animal" "trebmalambert" and "maltball".
  * mal and lambert argue loudly and often. it's mostly just because they like to banter. on occasion they have for-real fights, which are conversely characterized by long, acrimonious silences.
  * their gender is undetermined. not agender; _undetermined_. upon being asked, both mal and lambert will refuse to answer, on the basis that the asker of the question is not a wolverine and therefore it is none of their fucking business, _is that clear_. their fur is too shaggy for anyone to ever be able to tell without engaging, and good fucking luck on that front to whatever shmuck that tries to look. wolverines have killed polar bears on record!!
  * that and mal's voice being impossible to pin means it will remain undetermined _and that's how they like it._



also speedround for my thoughts on the rest of the wolf lads + the girls

geralt: snow leopard seems fitting. admittedly i am influenced by [this brazen plug](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636618).

vesemir: wolf. what, he's the classic.

eskel: black bear, but i could go for bison.

ciri: lion seems obvious, similarly swallow. i'd take both, but consider also: the great egret. birds are witchy, and yo, don't you fuck with heron species, they ain't here to play

yen: mute swan. not only is it witchy, not only is there _very relevant symbolism_ , also: mute swans are a. crazy as fucking wolverines _do not test them_ and b. communicate solely through hisses. it's yen. case? rested.

oh! and further!! consider: he doesn't speak to anyone (incapable or by choice, both are tasty), bc... mute swan. he just communicates to yen telepathically because they're magic. or she has only semi-comprehensible and one-sided conversations with him that seem to veer worryingly and i imagine are quite nerve-wracking if yen and her daemon are debating your fate.

coën has a crossgender daemon! there were more crossgendered griffons running around in general, for the sole reason that abandoning children with crossgender daemons was the going method for superstition in the surrounding area so they ended with a higher ratio through supply.

coën's daemon is a horse! big handsome war stallion. the usual exchange between him and other witcher pairs goes like this:

other witcher pair: a HORSE? lol how you gonna fight monsters with that  
coën: on horseback, usually.  
other witcher pair: thinks about it  
other witcher pair: oh

it's a very specific approach, but it works for them. 

****

* * *

UPDATE: ~*~bonus letho~*~ because i'm into him now

  * idk how anyone could watch him slink outta the water in the witcher 2 intro cinematic and not come away with "reticulated python"
  * drapes herself over most everything
  * this includes letho
  * MASSIVELY fucking huge and long. at her thickest point as broad as letho's own pythons. hugely heavy, too, but it's deceptive, given she's got complete control over its distribution. the artful drapery ain't just about the theater of it.
  * "you need only fall through a floor once," she comments about it laconically.
  * no matter the subject or situation, speaks in a disaffected monotone. this makes it virtually impossible to tell if what she says is sincere or not
  * unhelped by a dry and unsympathetic sense of humor that means she'll sometimes say some WILD shit in complete deadpan
  * in contrast to letho she has quite an advanced vocabulary and modulates it never for absolutely no one at all
  * goes by aelirenn
  * yes, [that](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Aelirenn) aelirenn
  * letho was the one that named her that; they don't remember what she was named before their Dreams.
  * because he likes aelirenn
  * "the last leader of a breed laid dying, rather than accepting an inevitable death of by slow strangulation, musters the last of them, outnumbered and against entire nations, for one final gasp to give them all hell before you go? yeah," aelirenn drawled, "how could we possibly relate."



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliff notes for ya:
> 
> [an equivalent reception to asking mal or lambert whether mal's a boy or a girl](https://youtu.be/FHpQFHjcP_k)


	8. an illustrated cliffnote for that which is difficult (Vesemir, gen, humor, comic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bonus for [That Which is Difficult](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812248), because that's about how _i_ visualized the scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ direct image link if it don't work here y'all i TRIED](https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wZRcHtCjdFI/XvJNJ8hVMbI/AAAAAAAAAEY/fJYtt9ZJtp047YcFURzxhvxP2cwCtmpgwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_1676.PNG)

> He doesn't even get the question out before Vesemir calmly reaches out and puts a hand over Jaskier's mouth. The shock of it does much more to silence him than the act does.

> Vesemir doesn't say anything. He simply shakes his head, something timeworn and solemn in his eyes. It's understated, but Jaskier knows well how to read a dramatic cue. He nods and doesn't ask Vesemir anything more on the matter.


	9. Weird About Horses (Geralt, Lambert, & Eskel, T, humor, minific)

Lambert spits out the cork of his second bottle. "So," he declares, in the grandiose way he favors when he's started feeling his drink, "I think it's time to talk about horses."

"Cheers to horses," Eskel agrees, toasting with his mug. They all take a drink.

"--But not that," Lambert continues, after a moment to find his point again. "We oughtta talk about Geralt, I mean."

"M'not a horse," Geralt says, more concerned with dabbing away the spillage on the floor. He hadn't had much left in his mug but he'd toasted to the concept of horses very enthusiastically.

"You, Geralt," Lambert says, pointing towards Geralt, and then sliding it downwards to follow the path that's left Geralt half-slumped on the floor, "You. Are _so weird_ about horses."

Geralt considers this.

"M'not weird about horses," he argues.

"You're a little weird about horses, Geralt," Eskel confirms. Geralt looks betrayed.

Lambert pounds the base of the bottle against the table. "That! Yes," he says, timing his pounds for the emphasis. "Geralt, you are weird. It is fucking _weird_ to make sure your horses _all look the same_ and give them _all the same name_."

"S'not weird," Geralt counters, drawing himself up a bit.

"Brother, it is _weird as hell_ ," Lambert accuses, before taking a long pull from the bottle.

Geralt glares at Lambert throughout, and when Lambert meets his eyes again he says, mutinous, "T'least I _name_ my horses."

Lambert can't summon the ire for a proper snarl, so he just glares right back. "You know why I don't name my horses? Because at any time a horse can _die_ , Geralt. Because they're _mortal_ , and they can _die_ , and I _accept that about them_."

Geralt scoffs. "By denying 'em-- denying them n'identity?"

Lambert pounds his bottle down for the last time, rising from his seat. "Better than sewing on the _same-identity-gone-necrotic!!_ You are _literally_ dead-horse-beating your dead fucking horse--"

Eskel takes the opportunity to help himself to Lambert's liquor now that the two men are occupied with the shouting. He sighs. He wishes, sometimes, that his brothers were more normal about horses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliff notes for ya:  
> geralt: >( i say you should love and value your horse  
> lambert: >( well i say your horse is mortal and you should be prepared to accept the consequences of your risky way of living  
> eskel: and why... not both? serious question. can you guys not do both,


	10. Lambert the Cat Bully: Genesis (Lambert & Geralt, gen, minific)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got reminded i had these half-finished in my drafts! by the way, i have a [tumblr](2nico.tumblr.com) now! i'm not planning on using it much but it is a way to contact me.

There's always a cat or two around Kaer Morhen. Their reception of anyone post-Grasses aside, it's simple fact: witchers need ratters much as anyone else, and cats need to eat much as anyone else. An uneasy truce, but a functional one.

Though now that Geralt's been on the Path for his own handful of seasons, he wonders, sometimes, if that's their true purpose. A good terrier would handle the rats just as well. But it had been hard for him to truly understand just how deeply being changed would change the world around him after his own Grasses until his first encounter with the elderly moggie he'd always saved his scraps for.

He'd reached out, and she'd hissed and she'd swiped at his hand with rheumy, narrowed slit-pupils. And it'd hurt, even though he'd been warned time and again. Even though he'd known it'd be coming. He had hoped, as a kid, if only in secret, that maybe he alone would be the exception. But he knows by now how very unexceptional that hidden hope had made him; there'll always be at least one boy in the cohort who wishes. And there'll alway be at least one who tries.

It'd hurt, but it was a safe way to hurt, kept within the walls of Kaer Morhen. And he'd learned his lesson: he was different now, so things were different now. It made it easier to take, when he first set off on his Path and those lessons got harder and meaner. He'd had, in a way, a head start.

So Geralt wonders, sometimes, if that early-on rejection is the true purpose of keeping the cats.

But he could just be overthinking it. They did, after all, have rats.

Lambert, as usual, somehow makes himself the exception. And, as usual, he manages it by watching everyone else head down the beaten path and then determinedly marching in the exact opposite direction.

* * *

Today's standoff is with one of the fishbone tabbies again, Geralt notes from where he's seated on the courtyard's bench. Possibly it's been the same one every time; the litter had all been that general color and he's never been able to get close enough to any of them to differentiate them any further.

Geralt could call it unique, the courtyard ritual Lambert's apparently established in the time since his Trial. Whether Lambert enters first or the cat does, as soon as they're both there it's always the same prolonged charade: two young creatures of entirely different species prowling dwindling circles around the other while they both pointedly pretend that they're ignoring their quarry's existence. He could also call it ridiculous, Geralt reflects.

"Lambert," he sighs. He doesn't bother to raise his voice. Lambert's clear from his Grasses; Geralt knows he's being heard. "Quit it."

From the complete lack of reply or reaction on Lambert's part, the boy's apparently decided to pretend Geralt doesn't exist, too. Instead, he stretches his arms over his head in a slow exaggeration, then turns his back completely to the tabby, ostensibly to examine one of the yard's young saplings. It's a poor parody of a dropped guard, but apparently that's enough to trick a cat. The tabby creeps steadily closer, tail lashing back-and-forth like it's matched to a metronome.

"Lambert," Geralt repeats. "Don't."

The tabby coils, aimed at Lambert's ostensibly open back. It flexes its paws, claws drawn.

Quicker than a snake, Lambert lashes out, seizes the sapling by the trunk and spins himself all-the-way-around it, using the momentum to make an abrupt about-face that ended with him in in a crouch directly level with the suddenly-shocked cat. He hisses in its face and it leaps near-vertical in the air before streaking off in a brown blur.

_"Hah,"_ Lambert crows after the fast-retreating creature, with a triumph that's comical in the savageness of its sincerity, "That's right! Get fucked, ya fleabiter!!"

Geralt sighs again and stands. He gives the back of Lambert's head a push as he passes; rough-housing is about the only way Geralt's ever been able to get his admonishments through with the boy, and even then it's even odds. Lambert doesn't even bother to look away from the gate his enemy retreated to.

"Stop bullying cats," Geralt says.

"I'll stop when they stop _starting it_ ," Lambert seethes.

* * *

Later that day, when Lambert is doing punishment drills in the yard, a tabby that was lying in wait on top of the battlements drops down, flails wildly at him with a piercing yowl, and dashes off, all to the sound of screamed curses.

Geralt doesn't doubt that the both of them are going to be in the courtyard the next day.


	11. Lambert the Cat Bully: Realization (Lambert & Keira, hinted Lambert/Keira, Original Cat Character, gen, humor, minific)

Widdershins hates that rude witcher man.

She has been a witch's familiar for more than a year now, and Widdershins prides herself for being in all manner exceptional in her task. Her Mistress deserves nothing less; more than that, there is her own dignity as a _professional_.

She keeps her fur well-groomed at all times so as to best emphasize its depthless black. Her stalk is liquid in its motion, a pool of ink that melts in and out of shadows and twines through her Mistress's legs for a fine and dramatic effect. There is no height she cannot scale and find place to perch upon (at times in sacrifice of comfort!) so that she might best coolly regard any visitor from on high, tilting her head just so to flash her eyes in the upper gloom.

She is, frankly, the absolute ideal. It's a constant mystery her Mistress even bothers to consort with anyone else, when she has Widdershins here to enjoy. But Keira, though a cut above her ilk, is just so fundamentally and regrettably _un-feline_ about some matters. It is what makes her flaws ultimately forgivable; her poor Mistress just truly doesn't know better.

The rude witcher man, though. The one who's started hanging around her Mistress like a foul odor. (Citrus, perhaps.) _He_ knows better. He knows that Widdershins was here first.

But there is no honor to be had in those stealer-of-eyes they call witchers, this all cats know. If there were, they would not feel so _familiar_. For it is more than their eyes that witchers have stolen from cats. It is the auspice of cats to have sense-beyond-senses, and only from witchers has Widdershins extended her own and then felt it collide with the same and then be pushed _back_.

Witchers are thieves, this all cats know. They've thieved their eyes, they've thieved their sense-beyond-senses, and now this rude witcher man is even trying to _thieve her Mistress_.

* * *

The rude witcher man bursts through the door and hollers "Keira! Got your fiend eyes!"

He is _loud_ about it and he has _mud_ on his shoes and the two fist-sized black eyeballs he's got dangling in one hand by the optic nerves are getting blood all over the _floor_ and Mistress couldn't look more _pleased_.

"Oh, _Lambert! Just_ what I needed," she praises, clutching her hands (which had been previously petting Widdershins) to her chest as she rises in a gentle swirl of skirts. "Stay in the entryway for the moment, you're dripping."

Mistress flits off, leaving but the rude witcher man, Widdershins, and the steady tp-tp-tp of blood on the tile.

Widdershins rolls slowly from her side into a crouch, keeping low and the rude witcher man in sight. She knows what he's trying to do, how he wants to win her Mistress's love with his trophies, and she's not going to let him get away with it.

The rude witcher man looks back at Widdershins, unblinking. She raises her shoulders and sets her tail to lashing.

Suddenly, his expression shifts, chin tilting upwards. A sneer curls sharply on his face, supercilious and mocking. He doesn't break eye contact.

"It's called hunting, housecat," he taunts, voice pitched low. "Try it some time."

Before Widdershins can even formulate a response, Keira sweeps back in, holding jars and an armful of cleaning rags, and the sneer is gone like it was never there, the man's attentions all upon her Mistress. Widdershins can only seethe.

She just _hates_ that rude witcher man.

* * *

But Widdershins had not always been a witch's familiar.

Widdershins was not always a housecat. She hadn't had it so lucky.

Because her fur was all-over-inky-black, and dark and soft and beautiful, but no matter how well she had kept it, no matter how neatly she made it groomed, she was bad luck, bad luck, bad luck.

No matter where she went, no matter what she did, she was bad luck. No human had wanted her in their barn, no human had wanted her in their home, and nobody even wanted her in their path.

Sometimes they were cruel about it, and sometimes Widdershins had wondered if maybe they were really right. That maybe she _was_ bad luck, and maybe that was why her own luck was always so terribly bad.

But then had come her Mistress, in a crackle of summoned storm. Her Mistress, who ran them off and gathered Widdershins up with gentle hands. She had fumed and called them louts and sadists taking advantage of unqualified and backwards superstitions. Mistress had taken Widdershins home and patched her up and pet her and told her she looked lovely _because_ of her shiny black fur and fed her _every_ day and asked her if she liked the name Widdershins.

Widdershins loves her Mistress, and Widdershins intends to keep her. If Mistress wishes to be wooed with trophies, well, Widdershins can hunt _too_.

She has to go far afield to find a proper prize, but soon has a fine one: a fat, healthy rat in its prime, neatly killed. She hurries back, the corpse a reassuringly hefty weight in her mouth.

She slips around the door and heads straight to her Mistress to present her prize. How's _that_ for housecat, she thinks.

* * *

It doesn't take long for the rude witcher man to get into the house, once the screaming starts.

* * *

The rude witcher man has put his arms around Mistress. She's got her face in her hands.

"I just can't believe-- she's _never_ brought anything back before, but a-- oh, but one of _those--_ "

"S'alright," the rude witcher man says. "It's gone, Keira, it's handled. Nothing left but ashes and I threw 'em out the door, it's gone."

Mistress leans into his hold, her voice tremulous but grateful. " _Thank_ you, Lambert."

"S'alright," he repeats. Over the top of Mistress's blonde head, his eyes flash as they skate through the gloom, eventually landing on Widdershins where she's crouched.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, an expression spreads on his face, slow and building like blood in the water. It's just as supercilious and mocking, but this time, _it's a grin_.

The iciness of the realization grips her, inexorable as the climb of frost. There's only one explanation. The rude witcher man had _known_.

He knew. _He knew_.

He planned this. _He'd planned this_.

And now Widdershins can only fume.

She just hates, hates, _hates_ that rude witcher man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this short foray into lambert: cat bully. don't worry, eventually he and widdershins bond over a shared passion for knocking expensive things off of people's mantles whilst staring them dead in the eye.


	12. lethoventures ascendant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i started noodling around in the tw2 and letho kicked my ass so hard he touched my heart and then crushed it within his massive, mighty fist, what can i say,

nihiletho.png

* * *

after considering letho's actions when he's not specifically off to commit A Terrorism i'm fairly certain his moral alignment could be summarized as "vibes"

* * *

“I mean, been a deep belief of mine always that it’s women who should rule the world.”

\- Letho of Gulet, Slayer of Kings & Respecter of Women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expect some short snippets coming out, but don't worry, i still have but one Big Beautiful Boy and he's served up salty, not chilled


	13. Yet Another Lethoventure and let's talk the REAL gwent nerfs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you watch 

[party.avi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YlnNt7D2OdA)

* * *

you're either with us or against us but i know that [my ancestors smile on me](https://akilah12902.tumblr.com/post/626018770253676544/lloerwyn-medieval-hats-always-toe-the-narrow). tell me, dh'oine, can you say the same?


	14. some thoughts on geralt (Geralt, meta)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just while i'm thinkin about that whole geralt maybe you should stop and consider that if [these things just happen to you](https://youtu.be/cVUVCV2CSHw?t=188) when they _don't_ for _anyone else_ maybe you're a contributing factor here

one of the things that aggravates me the most about geralt as a person (as a person, not a character; it makes him interesting to read about so i certainly don't dislike it on that front) is that he both insists on having a strong moral code and being incorrigibly fucking nosy in his own special geralt way when he gets it into his head to be and pairs it with a passivity and acceptance (and sometimes even faith!) of norms and institutions in a time when basically _no norm or institution is moral_.

which, imo, is why he keeps having his peruvian flute bands end up in the land of the giant's lost world, to keep with the metaphor. geralt is, at his core, a good person. he is also, at his core, a conventional person. therein the problem.

as i like to say, time is a ribbon through a tube. we today have the unprecedented privilege of living at the most ethically progressive point humanity has ever been (yes, even nowadays, which is why it's so important to keep fighting for it, _we've never gotten this far before_ ).

for most of human history, however, you average person just trying to live would occasionally run into the conundrum that what counts as “good” as defined by basic human empathy, unchangeable by the advance of time or technology, has only very, very rarely intersected with what counts as “good” defined by the time's conventions.

this has always been a delicate balancing act for our ruling class, because while these two things conflicting in minor, easily-ignorable ways is often enough for people to settle for just being conventionally good in their identity, push that too far and you get le revolution.

conventionally good people will readily take the profits of suffering so long as it doesn't slam their empathy buttons hard enough to knock their definition off-kilter to the truly moral goodness, and the people who are making that profit are eminently aware. that's why we get shit like child labor laws in first world countries but no action taken our own citizens outsourcing to it-- “it's fine so long as i never have to _see_ it” is pretty much the rallying cry of conventionally good people, no matter their country or creed.

but i've rambled on enough about capitalism weaponizing global atomization lmao. my POINT there with that is that geralt keeps fucking up because he wants to be good and do good things but cannot extricate himself from those precious conventions of his (and _rejecting them_? perish the thought, wouldn't even occur) that would be required to be purely and morally good.

(which, may i note, given how slowly we all took to catch on to the kind of ethically aware shit my boys [mozi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mozi) and [cinadon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conspiracy_of_Cinadon) were spinning re: 400 bc, i don't blame geralt for not rejecting everything he's ever known. that shit's hard to do, which is why most people end up not doing it. it's also incredibly dangerous and financially unfeasible most of the time, even today.)

(this is actually one of the things i suspect is a big part of geralt's often passive acceptance of being ill-treated as a witcher and a not-insignificant chunk of his self-loathing. he's a conventional person: not only is he inclined to put his faith in the institution, he's also likely aware (especially with lambert around to poke at him) that he is one. while the moral side of him might argue him being treated like shit is wrong, the conventional side is arguing it's fiiiiine, it's How It Is and thus Should Be. and his moral side is not going to make argument; human empathy is a lot easier to summon for others than it is for yourself, generally.)

so geralt keeps trying to be morally good in a conventional way in a world where conventions and moral goodness aren't in tandem. and then when it doesn't work, because they aren't _aligned_ , he just keeps trying to cram his wanting to do the right and good thing into the amoral conventions the world has provided, finding out they don't fit, trying to jam them into harder because _maybe they'll fit this time and it'll work out_ , and then look at that, geralt, yet again all you've got to show for it is This New Huge Fucking Mess.

anyway i guess the point i'm trying to make here is i actually both very much like geralt as a character and think he's an absolute dumbass mango who makes his own problems and then gets dramatic about it.


	15. follow up: some thoughts on gennefer (Geralt, meta)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yen fans specifically sorry this is literally just more geralt perspective

on the topic of geralt's complacency that's what i believe to be one of the reason why he tends to be the major driver in making gennefer happen because you can call yen many things but "complacent" is _not one of them_.

i think geralt's observant enough to recognize there's SOMETHING he's lacking within him-- some core of [thumos](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thumos), the ability to take affront and say 'things are just like that? well you know what, things SHOULDN'T be like that'-- that is the root cause of why his life keeps spiraling into fuckery despite his good intentions. but he doesn't have the higher understanding (and tbh hardly anyone does, even now) that it's his complacency to his time's conventions that keep dicking him over in the end, so he just sees yennefer, who has that quality in excess, and goes *small gasp* She Completes Me

which, well, she kind of does! geralt needs a solid dose of personal affront in a _lot_ of aspects of his life, and if you can count on yen for one thing, it's pounding on the front desk of life itself and demanding she speak to the manager, no not the middle managers, the _manager_ , until she has finally demanded her way into meeting face to face with the CEO of all existence, upon which she will presumably devour their heart with which to absorb their mana and assume their position to preside over the multiverse as our new cruel and beautiful god.

i got off track there. my point is, geralt probably sees yen has so much of the thing he's aware (subconsciously at least) he lacks, so it's easy to see why he'd fall into those very basic relationship fallacies of She Completes Me/She'll Fix My Life/I Need Her etc etc etc. none of it is NEW to any rudderless person who can't quite pin why their life keeps fucking up and tries to make a relationship their life-raft.

note that i actually do think endgame gennefer could even out and have a good landing, though! the thing is, counterweight couples like mr. Complacent About This and mrs. Affronted About This actually _can_ work out.

unfortunately it generally works out when both sides learn not to be too stubborn, talk things out, and listen to each other, which, lol. there's a reason why i specified "endgame gennefer". good luck there guys maybe you'll live long enough for someone to invent therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliff notes for ya:  
> geralt, Struggling Mightily with Emotion: yen, i feel like you can fill the space within me,  
> yen: so is this about pegging or


	16. Metaphorical (Geralt & Lambert, Eskel, snippet, gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh boy who is surprised that after writing an extensive meta critiquing geralt’s life choices i got into the mood to write lambert on such the topic
> 
> snippet i can’t see ever using bc it was literally just inspired by my own meta and compulsive need to live the pun life so here ya go!

Lambert spins on his heels to abruptly round on Geralt. "Your problem, Geralt, is that your whole worldview is a shittily made vase."

Geralt's taken aback in more ways than one. "--You've lost me," he admits.

Lambert draws himself up in a that manner of his that's always been discomfitingly similar to that moment right before he goes for his bombs. "I mean that again and _again_ , something comes along and bumps into your shitty vase and knocks it off its pedestal--" he's on the familiar path of working himself up at this point, which means he's started pacing, a way to both vent his building agitation and make room for the next step on trail, violently expansive gesturing.

"--and _again and again_ you'll cut your hands on that handful of shards and the certainty that if you can just get everything _back_ and _aligned_ and in _place_ that means you've _fixed_ it without ever considering maybe that thing you keep bleeding for keeps getting broke all the time 'cuz it's just a _shitty, ugly vase_."

That's a lot to consider, but foremost: "...Why specifically a vase?"

"Shit vases don't hold water," is all Lambert has to say in answer, curt.

* * *

"How'd it go?" Eskel asks.

"He told me my worldview was an ugly vase," Geralt reports contemplatively.

"No clue what that means, but it _does_ sound like something he'd say," Eskel reflects.


	17. Beyond Good & Letho (Wolf Lads, gen, humor, minific)

"So we're just not gonna address the fact that Letho is evil?" Eskel asks.

"I keep telling you he isn't evil, he just _does_ evil," Lambert cuts in impatiently. "A phlegmatic morality will always eventually _trend_ towards evil, but the underpinnings of it are benign by nature and only inevitably malignant by circumstance. You know, like anacyclosis."

"You can't apply the doctrine of _anacyclosis_ to _Letho's moral character_ ," Eskel returns, dosed heavy with skepticism. "One man is not a society t'himself."

"No, Eskel, that's my _point._ _You_ cannot address the question of Letho's moral character _without_ society being a fundamental part of the equation. _That's_ what makes him subject to the stench rule--"

"Since when was the stench rule societal?" Geralt interrupts.

"Since _always_ , Geralt, like _all my social theories are_ \--"

"Which's one the stench rule, again?" Eskel asks.

Lambert throws his hands up in exasperation. "Do you people ever even listen to me talk!?"

"We listen, Lambert" Eskel says, with implacable mildness. "But you've come up with a lot of rules."

Lambert ticks off his fingers. "The stench rule: moral neutrality in the form of a lack of standards will always trend towards winnowing out the people who have high standards, leaving you with only the shitty company left over. Even if you don't stink at first, keep making nice with the people who do and you're gonna start to smell like 'em. Soon enough, the only people who'll be 'round you stink as bad or worse. Letho stinks, I'm saying."

Eskel makes a considering noise. "I'd say we agree there, yet you're almost saying that like it exonerates him," he prods skeptically.

"Rule of the hammer, isn't it? You can use a hammer to bang out metal, you can use a hammer to murder a man, but the hammer's just a hammer. The technology is neutral."

"He's got a point," Geralt says. "Letho wasn't off taking kings' heads before someone started paying for them."

"Which is my point," Eskel counters. "A hammer's neutral because it doesn't get a choice. Letho _did_ , and we saw what he chose. Which was murder," Eskel emphasizes, "Literally, he chose murder."

"Ah ah, he chose _assassination,_ " Lambert corrected. "As he was functioning in his role as a tool of a state. Which brings me back to the ultimate question of divvying liability. It's a matter of _respondeat superior_ , I'd say. You know, case law."

"Ever since you got your hands on that Nilfgaardian Kormchaia I don't understand half the things you say on case law," Geralt sighs.

"Well, pretty boy, maybe if you ever actually _read_ a pandect for _once_ in your _life--"_ Lambert starts shooting back before Eskel cuts him off.

"Boys," Eskel dryly directs, "Roll it back. The topic here's Letho."

Lambert scowls but settles back on his heels, crossing his arms. "--Anyway, if anything's to blame here for Letho, it's the general thrall of the subsistence-through-serfdom economic model. If no one paid him to do evil shit, he would not do the evil shit."

"See, I'm not signed on to that. The evil people who pay him would also be neutral if they didn't do evil, but they do evil. That makes 'em evil, s'far as I'm concerned," Eskel states firmly. "You can toss around definitions, but if the end results is evil being done, then they're evil."

"Well, shit, if we're gonna get into the deeper _philosophy_ of the thing, we're gonna have to compare our definitions on how much the law of agency factors into it--"

"I'm right here," Letho says. "You could ask."

"You shut the _fuck_ up, Letho," Lambert snaps sharply before turning back to Eskel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick footnotes because lmao this was just me spinning my wheels that a handful of men with an entire winter of little to do and a library to bum around in would probably end up spiralling out into those totally pointless and unnecessarily detailed discussions
> 
> [anacyclosis](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anacyclosis)
> 
> [respondeat superior](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Respondeat_superior)
> 
> [kormchaia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kormchaia)
> 
> [law of agency](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Law_of_agency)


	18. lad antics (Lambert & Aiden, or preslash Lambert/Aiden, depending, gen, humor, minific)

"You know," Aiden says, as he urges his horse level with Lambert's, "I've been thinking…"

"Oh, _that_ always ends well," Lambert interjects. He pulls his own horse to the side to make space on the path through the big stretch of fuck-nowhere they're traveling.

"...And I've realized I've never actually seen your dick."

Lambert turns in his saddle and gives him a long, dead-eyed stare. Aiden simply looks back, wide-eyed and imploring.

After a long moment, Lambert turns back in his seat. "Well, Aiden," he says. His tone and expression are flat. "Looks like our Paths split here." He spurs his mount into a trot, although there won't be fork in the dirt-path they're on for miles yet.

Aiden's keeping pace next to him. He leans precariously over in his direction as he presses, with building enthusiasm. "Lambert, have you been hiding your dick from me? I think you've been hiding your dick from me, Lambert. Is your dick weird? Is that why, Lambert, is your dick weird?"

_"Well, Aiden,"_ Lambert stresses pointedly, _"It looks like our Paths split here."_

"Is your dick weird, Lambert? Hey! Laaaambert! Come baaaaack!!"

* * *

"I mean, all this time we've been traveling together and I just now realized that whenever I've seen you in a state of undress you're either turned away or covering your junk. You've been hiding your dick from me, Lambert, and the question is _but why_."

"First of all: your priorities speak to a deeply damaged mind. Secondly, call your own dick whatever you want but do not you fucking call mine _junk--"_

"Oh," Aiden says, "So you _do_ have one."

Lambert's mouth hangs open for a moment, his rant derailed. He clicks it shut and then follows up with a deeply incredulous "So I-- _what?_ _Yes_ , _Aiden_ , I have a dick! Why was that even in _question!?"_

"Well how am I to know!" Aiden defends, waving his free hand. "I've never seen it!"

"That's-- do you think people just-- no, wait, we're not discussing this," Lambert corrects. "You are not getting me to discuss this."

* * *

"Is it because it's really small? That's all right, Lambert. You know that's all right, yeah? Or-- wait, could it be your dick is too _big?_ Intimidatingly big or-- ahh, _mutation-_ big! Or mutation-small, or just-- _mutations! Dick mutations,_ Lambert."

"I am not participating in this conversation," Lambert states firmly, and keeps his attention pointedly forward on the road.

"Lambert, d'you think there are dick mutations out there? Is that why I've never seen yours? Is your dick mutated, Lambert, is that why you hide it? Lambert _I have to know_."

"Still not participating in this conversation," Lambert grits.

* * *

"Is it-- by god, is it barbs? _Does your dick have barbs, Lambert._ "

"Does my-- the fuck!?"

* * *

"It'd only be fair, don't you think," Aiden argues as they set up the camp for the night. "I mean, I've shown you _my_ dick."

"No," Lambert corrects sharply as he sets the tent-peg in place and hammers it in with brusque efficiency, "I've seen your dick because _you_ had your dick out, _and_ _also_ I was there. I was not willing participant to either of these things."

Aiden's quiet for a long moment, shifting one of the pegs from hand to hand before passing it over to where Lambert's been kneeled on the dirt. He takes it from Aiden slowly and with suspicion, an instinct immediately requited when Aiden opened his mouth to start to ask "--So, I mean, just, since you've seen it and all, what did you _think_ about--"

Lambert has no intention of letting him finish _that_ train of thought, so he lashes out with the mallet, attempting to catch Aiden's toes. Aiden dances back out of immediate range with a hoot of laughter.

"I _will_ play your toes like a glockenspiel, see if I don't," Lambert warns waspishly, and sets the next peg.

"You won't have that mallet forever, Lam-boy!!"

* * *

Lambert's not stupid enough to tempt fate by going to wash with Aiden anywhere in the area. It wasn't even a vital _thing_ for him, the turning away, just something he's never _not_ done. But now it's _become_ a thing, because this may not have been something Lambert was particularly invested in winning but _damned if he'll lose now_.

So he waits until Aiden's out to check the snares before he goes to the nearby stream with his basin, washing-cloth, and a dagger to keep within arm's reach the whole time in case of threat.

Threats such as Aiden exploding naked from under the water just a handful of feet away from Lambert while he'd been sluicing water over his back, prompting him to chuck the basin at Aiden and grab the dagger while he yowled the first curse that came to mind in this sort of situation, which turned out to be some garbled semblance of the phrase "SHITTING NUNFUCK--".

"Ah-HAH," Aiden crowed, hurriedly pawing his thick mask of his own dripping hair away from his eyes, "You've underestimated a _hunter's tactics_ \-- oh."

Lambert drops his stance with the dagger, then grasps the full situation, then looks at the dagger, because he's considering taking a fighting stance again. "Did you _really_ waste a Killer Whale on this shit," he finally asks, with sour incredulity.

Aiden keeps right on looking his fucking fill, like this whole debacle hasn't been fucking _rude_. He looks puzzled, more than anything. "Just-- it's fine."

Lambert waves his hands in open appeal to the heavens. "Yes, it's _fine_! My dick was _always fine_ , _thanks!_ It's just _my_ gods-damned dick, which makes it _my_ gods-damned business!"

"Huh," Aiden says, and finally deigns to notice Lambert's eyes are (and have been, _may he note_ , because he's not the only one naked here) up here. "Kind of a let-down, honestly. I had theories."

Lambert barks a laugh and wades through the water over to Aiden, clapping him on the shoulder with the hearty slap of wet skin.

"Well, Aiden," Lambert says brightly, offering the man a companionable grin, "I can promise you'll be getting your absolute _fill_ of weird-looking dicks soon enough when the scars where _yours_ used to be heal up!"

"Ah, what?" Aiden asks.

Lambert digs his fingers into Aiden's shoulders as he reverses his knife grip one-handedly, grin now a rictus with all his teeth. _" 'Cuz I'm gonna cut your dick off."_

* * *

"Two creatures of skin they were, Master Witcher, with long limbs," the woodcutter reports, twisting his cap in his hands. "I might almost have thought 'em human, but the way they _moved_ , one right after the other, the _speed_ \-- no human's like _that_ I seen. And the noises," he shudders, "This awful racket, all hooting and hollering--"

"Anything specific about the noise?"

"Well-- it was as if it were one of 'em that was doing all the hooting and another was doing the hollering," is all the woodcutter has to say.

"Hm. I'll look into it," Geralt says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliff notes for ya:  
> lambert: as far as my brothers and vesemir are aware, i have no sex life. possibly i don't even have a dick. _do_ i have a dick? they just don't know. and _that's the way i like it_.
> 
> disclaimer: if your good friend expresses discomfort at letting you see their privates, please respect their bodily autonomy and do not pursue this. do not pursue your friend wet and naked through a forest holding a knife, also.


	19. I wish you would write a fic where… (Various, Lambert-centric, minifics & snippets)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I wish you would write a fic where…](https://2nico.tumblr.com/post/627394603183636480/) was the prompt. pretty fun! the random factor is firin' up the ol' rping instinct. here's a lil roundup!

**anonymous** asked:

The Lambert/Keira fic where the "Lambert, put down that blowtorch" scene happens?

snippet for a modern au for ya!

Keira's tone is final. "No, Lambert."

"Keira, _c'mon_. It's not even _illegal_!" Lambert protests.

"Lambert," Keira says flatly, "Is it 'not illegal' because it's _legal_ , or is it 'not illegal' because there hasn't been a reason to _make_ it illegal until now?"

Lambert is silent for a long moment, then lowers the blowtorch with a mutinous grumble of a man caught-out.

#sorry ciri uncle lambert CAN'T come over today #he loudly narrates as he composes his text #because auntie keira is an ESTABLISHMENT SHILL

* * *

  
  
  
**[akilah12902 asked:](https://akilah12902.tumblr.com/) **

For prompts stuff, I would absolutely adore seeing Aiden and Keira getting along/teaming up, please!

minific: at least they manage to agree on lambert

"Well, it is a matter of blood, but it's not blood-rage," Aiden sighs. He's been holding Lambert by the shoulders as his struggles to rejoin the since-ended fray get more lethargic. "He just gets stubborn when he's like this."

"M'fine," Lambert slurs, and attempts to shove at Aiden again. At this point, it's more like a bleary pat to smear yet more of his own blood on Aiden's face. "C'n keep-- keep goin'."

"Yes, yes. I know that's what you think, Lam-boy," Aiden answers with a long-suffering patience. "But that's because you're delirious from the blood loss."

That only serves to renew Lambert's struggles, and with more coherency than he's had since they managed to first run him down, he manages to spit a thoroughly defiant "M'not delir'ous from blood _loss._ I'm-- I'm delir'ous from _blood win_."

Aiden chokes on his own high, keening laugh. "Oh, for _fuck's_ sake," Keira huffs and finally just casts Somne. Lambert slumps in Aiden's grip, but the man has to scramble to keep his bearing with it, being too busy staring at her wide-eyed.

"You just _swore_ ," he marvels, with the same sort of obnoxious tone she'd heard from her own time in schooling.

Keira rolls her eyes and directs Aiden and her charge in the direction of her makeshift operating table. "There's a difference between having common decorum and being a school-mistress, Aiden. Now, let's be started."

* * *

**anonymous** asked:

Aiden hearing about Upending era Lambert's adventures with Ciri?

snippet: influence

The next time Aiden sees Lambert, he's somehow managed to acquire a new rucksack in the form of a small, blonde child clinging to his back like a particularly tenacious monkey.

"Ahhh-huh," Aiden says, drawing it out in consideration. "So. That's a kid."

"What's it to you?" Lambert shoots back.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" the small child echoes.

"Huh," Aiden nods, "So I guess everyone here's got some questions."

* * *

**anonymous** asked:

Lambert gets hit with a truth spell, Aiden gets hit with a lying spell, chaos ensues.

snippet: echo

"This is the worst thing to ever happen to us," Aiden enthuses.

"This is the worst thing to ever happen to us," Lambert repeats vaguely, eyes distant and expression slack.

* * *

Aiden pats his arm consolingly. "It'll be a disaster, Lambert," he assures, eyebrows drawn and eyes sympathetic. "I don't trust our friendship to survive this at all."

"I _know_ ," Lambert grits out through his teeth, then groans and drops his face into his hands.


	20. Fic pitch: Counting Stars / Perception (Aiden/Lambert/Keira poly or poly v, T, humor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm putting this here because i ended up sort of liveblogging the process i've used to make rough drafts before in the last handful of days! only written so people more than, well, just me could actually understand.
> 
> but yeah that's pretty much how it goes! one big GLOOSH and then the rest is just mopping it up into something actually presentable.

**[akilah12902](https://akilah12902.tumblr.com/) asked:**

I had two ideas, both very stereotypical; please feel free to pick either/or! 1) Counting Stars 2) Thrown to the Wolves

Counting Stars

* * *

i’m picturing another frolic like denial or intent, where i finally get to splash around in all my esoteric medieval trivia, only now with keira, because if her go-to plan for “possibly seduce, _definitely_ ensorcel” in a pinch is “let’s watch the stars (:” i assume she knows her stuff.

and since keira is supposed to be a Brain, if she knows stars in a medieval setting, it is not simply the domain of theories and hobbyists. stars and the study of astrometry was the domain of geometrists and the scientific minds of the era. 

why? because in medieval times, stars were vital to two things: accurate measure and passage of time, which was certainly a bit of tricky one in that era, and longitude, which was important to cartography but absolutely _vital_ to naval navigation. and then paste on the setting of the witcher, where the conjunction of the spheres is a real thing that happened, and i bet the right prediction of the movement of the planets making sites and times for casting more or less “auspicious” might have something real underlying it.

this meant court astronomers were less mystics and more specialist consultants! with a bit of mystic thrown in, because people just can’t resist the call of astrology.

so! with that in mind, the plot would kick off chronologically (if not necessarily narratively, you know i like to play with timelines) with keira being commissioned by an eccentric noble patron to connive a way of naval navigation that dispenses of the compass. 

this is because that patron has a specific interest with a bermuda-triangle-esque patch of ocean that seems to be innocuous, except for the fact that it’s a magnetic anomaly. maybe THAT’S why ships keep disappearing there.

which, keira, being a surprisingly terrible judge of character when the chance for rEsEaRcH gRaNtS??? are on the table, gets so wrapped up in the idea of cracking that chestnut and revolutionizing naval navigation worldwide!!

thus, it takes her a long while to clock that this patron really, really wants to get to the center of that location. like, _really_. and maybe all that talk about the other applications that keira’s actually into weren’t the point. like, _at all_.

which means in that good ol’ Source Classic™, she got too excited about figuring out if she _could_ to consider if maybe she _should_. so when she presents her patron with [a metal astrolabe and updated ephermides, a set of highly accurate astronomical tables of the sun in an easily-convertible format to any location, ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FAbraham_Zacuto&t=OWJjNGEyY2RlOWYxN2MzYWI0MzNlNjJkM2Q1MTgzMzE1ZWRkNDRjMyxZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628115140569612288%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599151842)she is very surprised when the patron drops the human glamor, reveals themself as a vodyanoi, and attempts to flood her laboratory and kill her along with it, because she “knew too much”.

keira takes that kind of thing personally. they _ruined_ her lab, and they didn’t even _pay_. (” _unforgivable_ ,” lambert seethes, incensed on her behalf. “there’s also the attempted murder to consider, you two,” aiden reminds cheerily from around his mouthful of biscotti. “that and whatever they’re actually up to.”)

so she’s contracted out aiden and lambert to get to the bottom (or should i say… the _depths_??) of all this. and ends up coming along, because after talking a bit about the contents of her research and having aiden assure her it’s fiiiine, he’s well-enough versed, demonstrated by cheerfully regurgitating a handful of medieval astrology an ‘ain’t-ever-think-too-hard-’bout-it’ type would pick up, she’s convinced this isn’t a matter of hiring “two witchers” but apparently “a witcher, and also his pet dumbass”.

set off on a dramatic sea voyage! with a lot of banter-y interplay in keira, one of the closest things the world of the witcher has to a scientist back when science was called natural philosophy, lambert, who argues from seeing himself as firmly rooted in _actual_ reality with the _right_ priorities but is observant enough that when keira points out reality as he experiences it _all_ ties back to that apparently theoretical natural philosophy he can be like ‘oh damn she right?’ while still snagging keira by the back of her neckline when rEsEaRcH > common sense, and aiden, who starts out introducing astrology tangents firstly because he’s just naturally that sort of surface-level hippy-dippy type, and later in part honestly just because it makes keira soooOOOOOooooo mad every time. she has a real thing against astrology because of how it keeps butting into the work of astronomy.

this is because the romantic subplot is a rivalry!! at the start, anyway. both aiden and keira realize their interest in lambert, who is entirely oblivious, is mutual, making them Rivals In Love, and more importantly the competition means if they don’t win it, they’ll lose it. lambert doesn’t notice.

so throughout the swashbuckling tale is the thread of the unspoken competition between the two to Win Lambert’s Heart. unfortunately for them, it’s lambert. lol rip. 

what follows is a comedy of errors where keira is too subtle, so lambert doesn’t realize she’s _actually_ trying to seduce him, and aiden is too blatant, so lambert doesn’t realize he’s _actually_ trying to seduce him, and the whole thing is so unbelievably frustrating they actually start bonding over the recountings of How He Took It This Time.

which eventually culminates in a scene where lambert bashfully and with clear Deep Inner Pain tells the both of them that it’s fine if they’re– _together_ , he knows they’ve been spending all that time and– just, it’s fine, _it’s fine_ , but– shit, i don’t know. i’m here too? just– don’t forget that.

to which their response is, mutually and without the need for conferral, (this the first time they’ve immediately agreed with each other in their life) to blank-facedly grasp one of lambert’s shoulders and heave him overboard. (it’s what he deserves™)

and then! plot stuff! i’d definitely use the [sunstone](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FSunstone_%28medieval%29&t=NDQyNjRiNDc1Njc2OTZjYzY0MmQ0MGMxYjNjMTdhMGVhZjM5ZWUxYixZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628115140569612288%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599151842) trick for the climax, where an overcast sun means they can’t navigate EVEN WITH THEIR RECOVERED CHARTS but ha HAH, a sunstone finds the sun’s angle even _when_ overcast, i ain’t kidding when i said i’d just dump more nerdlore into here until it eventually coalesced into a plot.

* * *

i have FOUND the plate tectonics i would use to tie it all together! what is it, might you ask? [opticks](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FOpticks&t=NmIyZjBhYzhmMzI1ODViNWUzNDgxZjk3NjUwOWQ0M2VhOWY3OGZmMCxZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628190385154473984%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599151954)!

i imagine all of you know about newton’s contribution to math and physics, but he actually had a big hand in furthering the science of light, color, and our perception of these things in a very un-theoretical way! opticks was his big “here’s how i can prove what i’m saying about this stuff is true in a tangible way”, with the intent of both explaining it to the layman and offering replicable experiments to confirm it.

unlike his math and physics work, this sort of fell to the wayside in the public’s perception in part because he was cutting-edge at the time but ultimately wrong about some things! the science moved on.

_however_ , when importing its concepts into the witcher, i say it’s a good fit! one of the fun things i find about the setting is how it’s both firmly high middle ages yet a substantial jump forward technologically, offering cover for a lot more fun and interesting things you can bring in. i’m always a slut for fantasy kitchen sink settings!!

so the Big Theme that this is going to underpin everything would be Perception! (which, given what i, uh, called denial, intent, and upending, might take precedent on that fic name at this point.)

there has always been a _lot_ of study and discussion on clarifying and understanding perception, in the sense of both philosophical and physical, and usually by the same people! given the slow end of the natural philosophy era to the entirely observation-based science we do today, upheld by polymath titans like newton and voltaire, who asked not only how, but why.

that means i mayst plunder the trove of history with my sticky little thefty fingers! there’s a reason why i chose that lil dog monastic illumination icon! that’s me with the fingers. grabby grab grab.

such as the mirage phenomenon known as [fata morgana](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FFata_Morgana_%28mirage%29&t=MjJmYjlkZmVmZmNhMTRiNDc1MmQ3ODg1MDNjODMyNDg1YjU2MzJlMSxZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628190385154473984%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599151954), an illusion in the distance created from refraction known to be seen over oceans. it’s suspected to be the origins of a lot of those sorts of shangri-la myths of a mystical island, like buyan, mt. penglai, and a little place called… [avalon](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwitcher.fandom.com%2Fwiki%2FArthur%2527s_Realm&t=OWY2ODlhMzM0MjhjMWI0Njg2NzkyMDk0ZjkwYTlhMTUyNGVhMGNlNyxZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628190385154473984%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599151954). and hmm, hasn’t there been a lot of reports of fata morgana sightings over that screwy magnetic area of ocean? _imagine that_.

oooh, with that in mind you could definitely bring in [the lady of the lake](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwitcher.fandom.com%2Fwiki%2FLady_of_the_Lake_%28nymph%29&t=YmE2ZTBkNTI4ODk1MGZhZWZlMjc5ZjJjN2IwMGMwMTJkNmJiMDZlMCxZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628190385154473984%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599151954)! either someone trying to get at her or save her, but she fits that sort of *wiggles hand* ehhhhh lorespace of power that black sun princesses do so no reason why _not_. some vodyanoi worship her too, we could have some _advanced fish-men politics._[the flying dutchman ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FFlying_Dutchman%23%3A%7E%3Atext%3DThe%2520Flying%2520Dutchman%2520%28Dutch%253A%2520De%2CVOC%29%2520and%2520Dutch%2520maritime%2520power.&t=NjUzNWI2Zjc0ZjA2ZWNiMzJkMDRlOWEwYzg2MzgxNDA0MzBiNDg3MyxZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628190385154473984%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599151954)is another rich myth-mine to plumb with its origins in the fata morgana. gotta love nautical lore! the cup runneth over with plot points.

but back to perception! geeze this is getting long. actually i’m gonna take a break for a bit so watch this space i’ll rb with the next part after i eat a handful of sour cherries and browse a bit

* * *

“Yeah, well,” Lambert retorts, “I think I’ll stick to my real-world problems. Y'know, out here in the _real world_ and all.”

“The _real world_ ,” Keira echoes, a fair match for Lambert in the acid she wields with her derision. “Oh, yes, how _discerning_ that makes you when you can’t even discern–” she cuts herself of with a high-pitched noise through her closed mouth as she wrings a thin line of muddy water from the hem of her dress. “Lambert, it’s– it’s a matter of _perspective_.”

“I can see what you’re trying to say, but it won’t work,” Aiden warns with a sigh. He’s crouched down over the various collected potion bottles two witchers and a sorceress keep on their person, checking if their seals held watertight. “You don’t even want to know how many times I’ve tried to tell him that.”

“ _No,_ you twit, perspec _tivity_ ” Keira snaps testily, then intakes a sharp breath between her teeth. If there was any chance she was going to offer apology for her temper, it was definitively dashed by Aiden’s chosen response to be to stick out his tongue. Keira’s eyes narrow to slits, even as she begins to preen her appearance back into some semblance of order. “I speak of geometry.”

“Oh, she speaks of geometry, _there’s_ a surprise! It’s always back to the fucking _geometry_ with you,” Lambert calls over his shoulder. Despite the jibe, he seems to be in somewhat good spirits, having picked loose the sodden ties of his boots as he grapple-walked back towards the canal.

“ _Because it always comes **back** to geometry, Lambert,_” Keira shrills after his retreating back, stamping her foot. Aiden reaches out from where he’s finishing his inspection and pats the top of her foot with his hand, smiling in consolation. Keira allows herself a moment to think quite spitefully of kicking it.

keira then corrects that no, lambert, you can NOT “call it like you see it”, because you _can’t reliably see it in the first place_. no one does! we can only explore our reality through an interface, and a fundamentally imperfect one. take, for the matter, perspective.

she points to a plain, flat-topped square building in the distance. “we see, with our own two eyes, a building of differing heights.”

lambert and aiden look, puzzled. “no,” aiden finally ventures, “looks just the one height to me.”

“come now, use your _eyes_ ,” keira goads sweetly. “call it like you _see_ it.”

she points out that, if we considered solely what we _saw_ , then the side of it that’s farther away– smaller- _looking_ because of the distance– is shorter, isn’t it? because that’s what it looks like when we _see_ it. making for a lopsided building of differing heights.

“yeah, but we know that’s not _really_ how it works–” lambert starts. “ _exactly_ ,” keira cuts him off, because _none of what we see is how it really works_ , so maybe we don’t know as much as most like to think.

this is because the eye is shaped like an orb. this means we get a lens effect and distortion when there isn’t one– a completely ideal interface to perceive the world should be by nature perfectly flat, to allow complete perception of objects in their true dimensions. but perspective, as we know it? it simply doesn’t exist. it is conjured from nothing but the shape of our eyes and the rationale of our brains.

(i’d probably find some way to work in [orthgraphic](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FOrthographic_projection&t=ZThhYmMxNjI4MTUxNDFkZWIyNDE2NDM1YjA0NzlkOWRkNjZkNTBmYixZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628206700647907328%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599152002)/[isometric](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FParallel_projection%23%2Fmedia%2FFile%3AComparison_of_graphical_projections.svg&t=OTUwMmU3YzNmZDE5MmZiYzE3YjVlOTAwZjI1MzM0NzVlN2UwY2VjMSxZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628206700647907328%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599152002) parallel projection into there, because it’s both an easy way to visualize the concept and [quite relevant to historical cartography](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FOrthographic_projection_in_cartography&t=NTZjOGQ4YTlkZjA3ZGFlZTcyMjA2YmNmZTdkYjUxOWRjNzRjMTI1MixZN2M3R05zcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A10f_WKftU_EXy9F_OaUy-Q&p=https%3A%2F%2F2nico.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F628206700647907328%2Fi-had-two-ideas-both-very-stereotypical-please&m=0&ts=1599152002)!)

your eyes, that you so trust to show you the truth of the world, have created an entirely personalized fantasy world of imaginary lengths and angles between you and reality as you _think you see it_ , keira concludes with the sort of prim, decisive bite of a woman who knows the argument’s won.

(there’ll also be a bit about light and the spectrum of color etc. etc. where the sunstone that saves the daaaaaay comes up– it’s used to show how the sort of white light we perceive as nothingness the same way we do the taste of air and water isn’t as it seems, and some of the other fun parlor tricks cooked up from opticks.

the fallibility of perception is conspicuously pressed again throughout, for example, if everyone was colorblind, then the colors they experienced would just be the colors of reality, wouldn’t they? we’d never know otherwise– we only know because of the people who _aren’t_ colorblind that there are more colors to miss. don’t you ever wonder there might be more colors out there, in the world we _don’t_ see– the colors of reality for someone with eyes more advanced? this’d get tied into the whole mirage/illusions/deception plotstuff)

When Keira finally winds down, Lambert and Aiden had migrated to sitting next to each other cross-legged in front of her as she lectured, dutifully examining her summoned figures when presented. If there’s one thing to be said of the horrific and horrifically inefficient methods to make witchers, it’s that they’re taught the benefits of soaking up education when it comes along.

Lambert squints, slowly rotating the sunstone back and forth in front of his eye one last time before handing it back. “Huh,” he says, after a long moment. He sounds impressed. “Does it ever get tiring, knowing everything?”

“I don’t know everything,” Keira says, taking the sunstone between two delicate fingers and tucking it away. “But I’d like to, if I can. Wouldn’t you?”

“Huh,” Lambert says again, tilting his head to the side and considering. He nods. “Yeah, I think I get it.”

“And I don’t!” Aiden contributes brightly.

“Buddy,” Lambert says. He lays a hand on Aiden’s arm. “I don’t think you’re ever really gonna.”

“I figured,” Aiden agrees. “I lost both of you back when you started talking about perfect flattened eyeballs. It’s a relief, honestly. Pressure’s off! But I’m glad you two are having fun,” he concludes, topped off with a genial nod.

* * *

okay LAST BIG ADDITION or should be from my six-odd months or so of Actually Finishing My Stories i’ve sort of gotten the sense when the big initial GLOOSH stage is over and then the rest is just usually the sticky drips and drabs sealing over the gaps.

so! at the start keira, being part of the “if i always act like i’m lying then it’s v. hard to tell when i’m actually lying” school of hard reads, makes aiden SUSPICIOUS.

“Just– suddenly, a Vodyanoi? It’s fishy!”

“Oh ha _ha_ ,” Lambert shoots back in his incongruously aggressive deadpan. Keira just rolls her eyes.

“What’s to ‘ha ha’ about– ah!” Aiden’s puzzlement breaks into a dawning delight. “ _Fishy!_ Good one. But no, I mean I’ve learned not to trust a sorceress telling stories. They’re duplicitous types. Trickier to hunt than the male.”

Keira turns to give Lambert a look. He shrugs. “Cat school,” is all he says.

Keira turns back. “Ask away, then. I trust the empirical evidence.”

“Well, you’re a sorceress, aren’t you?” Aiden starts, then scratches his head. “And you never noticed your regularly-visiting patron was a fish-man in a glamor?”

“Of _course_ I knew they were under a glamor, Aiden, they were presenting themselves to me as a _noble_ ,” Keira says, with a note of exasperation. “You talk to a sorceress; it’s not like my own breasts aren’t faker than an original One-Armed Abelard.” Aiden’s eyebrows shoot up at the frankness, and Lambert shoots him a quick grin.

“And you never once took a peek under it? Or noticed, well, the smell?”

“When a noble patron comes to me under a glamor and drenched in a strong-smelling perfume, I do _not_ tend to descry under it as a rule,” Keira states, wrinkling her nose. “I’ve spent enough time examining oozing syphilis sores at close-range to have any interest in doing so from afar.”

“Fair,” Lambert says with a shrug.

“Well! They tried to kill you, didn’t they? And you don’t seem to be taking it at all personally.”

Keira takes a moment to consider this. “I suppose it just didn’t seem all that personal on their end,” she says contemplatively. “They didn’t even use my name, just kept calling me a "sorceress wench.”

also aiden mentions to lambert on their own it’s frustrating because he can’t trust his perception of her. he’s got a bit of a bias, y'know?

aiden, internally: bc we’re LOVE RIVALS

but lambert, internally: oh… guess he’s attracted to her… ic…

which then starts all THAT off

but yes! that’s what i’d write. i wasn’t expecting this to be a live step-by-step of me constructing what i’d use for my first draft a fic if i were actually writing it, but!

¯\\_(｡ò◁ó)_/¯ *bows*

edit to add:

i actually just had the thought, since i like the personal headcanon that wolves = nose better, cats = eyes better, that witchers DO have upgraded eyes-- or, well, aiden does.

keira: unknowable colors--  
aiden: ah!! like grayble. see, lambert, i told you it was real!!  
lambert: i never said it wasn't _real_ , aiden, i just refuse to acknowledge it because _grayble is a stupid name for--_  
keira: no, stop. explain.

further: keira's stock follow-up to the adalard quip: a forgery in origin, and yet nevertheless a masterpiece of art.


	21. bioware pc mindset vs. bethseda pc mindset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a quick meta!

i’ve made reference to it before, but i thought i should properly codify what i’m talking about when i say that!

basically, it’s a mindset characters conduct themselves within that are two very different playstyles with two very different player goals sharing the same game where both is possible and thus so’s their interference to another’s playthrough.

i’ll be using the witcher lads as my example because they’re functionally in-universe player characters (a profession known also by the affectionate term “murderhobos”) already.

a **bioware** (dragon age, knights of the old republic, jade empire) PC is playing their game of life based on good faith in the game itself. their play of it is far more restricted than a properly-played-mayhem-sandbox open world, but gets far more depth out of its narrow focus; they meet interesting people, explore their own fascinatingly and complex character arcs, and their goals tend to be all in favor getting to the best end to see every plot-knot they put their time in effort into picking apart settled satisfyingly. if they mod the game, it’s solely to expand on its depth with more appearance options or added content to explore.

bioware PC mindset: geralt, eskel, vesemir. they’ve all bought into the game; the full immersion of it is what they’re trying to maintain.

a **bethseda** (elder scrolls, fallout) PC plays the game of life like, well. a bethseda PC. i mean, if you’ve ever played any of that absolute glut of mayhem-sandboxes, you know what a bethseda PC acts like! there’s no buy-in to the game’s internal logic or ruleset all the NPCs live and die by, because… well, you can just walk into a room with the bigger weapon and kill everybody in there, can’t you? i mean, probably you’ll never, and maybe you won’t, but there’s not anything actually _stopping_ you other than, well… you. you and your access to a bigger weapon. so with that in context, there’s a lot less drastic things you can do to get ahead while still not following the same “rules” as the npcs. given their disposability to the mayhem sandbox, they don’t tend to have much depth or nuance, so they’re easy to exploit. and that’s always their goal in the end, pretty much. modding the game is about just that: newer and interesting exploits and changes.

bethseda PC mindset: lambert, letho, berengar. you can’t tell me that each of them haven’t at some point or another independently arrived to the conclusion “technically no witnesses if i just kill all of ‘em”.


	22. blink and you'll miss it (letho, T, minific, humor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [brille](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brille) is the special spectacle scale over snake's eyes that keeps it protected! before it sheds, it goes milky.

All in all, it's just a simple mistake that blows Letho's cover with the kid. Not the first one he's worked with, not the last one he'll work through, but the rare one that was actually, entirely, all his own fault. Almost a pity he fucked it up all on his own while all on his own; he knows the boys get a kick out of catching him out on a trip, even if they're always there to catch him. Too bad for them he's the one already out on the trip.

One of several down its path, sent by the Grandmaster. He'd started with the portal over to Temeria to find out what the fuck's been tying up their deliveries on flower. Brewing-quality arenaria only comes from around White Orchard for the harvest, and Vipers need the hanged man's venom it breeds.

Distributing human's venom to slick your iron with is the lifeblood coursing through the Vipers working nearer to the borders. Whether that's the borders of Nilfgaard or the borders that counts as a proper witcher's job still left, these days. Hard times all over, but for a witcher that's just always. Learning to do better is just learning to deal.

So like those other jobs the grandmaster prefers to send him out on his own to check in on, it's paired with the unspoken directive that if something there needed handling, hey, Letho's got a knack with the application of the firm hand.

On most things, but he hadn't factored in the sudden switch from the permanently-temperate dry air of the mountain canyons over to a place with an actual wet season as he tracked the source of the hold-up through Vizima. So he hadn't accounted on his brille shed coming on this early.

He'd spent the time traveling cursing his luck and letting those around him assume he was fully-blind to explain away the milky blankness of his pupils. Turns out people are kinder to blind men than they are witchers in general. It's a new way to go about it, but not all that surprising.

People who like publicly ministering to the blind tend to be the same type Letho can see right through anyway, clouded into the softer edges by his fallible sight or no. It's just the same sort of annoying of being regarded more like a prop than person for a personal narrative, an unscratchable twinge all-over no amount of tolerating the new direction into suddenly-pious unsolicited charity from bit-parts mid-their-own-soliloquy soothes away.

But it had turned out that faking blind is an easier way to travel unseen. All kinds of ironic, Letho reflects, as he idly watches the child intently watching him from around the stately pillar they're trying to hide behind.

It's just Letho and the kid-- boy, he thinks, given the embroidered clothes, though it's hard to tell when they're at what Auckes always insists on calling the "moppet stage", alone at the grand reception and staring at each other in a waiting silence.

He doesn't think it's a matter of blown cover, which is why he's waiting on the moppet's angle. People don't clock the two short-knives Viper's made their signature with the warm-blooded witcher's two swords automatically, but it's always been embarrassingly fucking easy for him to lie low anywhere.

Or is when you look like Letho, anyway, which is why he'd just went and gatecrashed the fancy soiree the wannabe warlord behind tying-up-the-supply-lines had arranged for a showing of his face.

You'd think looking as rough and disreputable as Letho tends to would be detriment, but that's just if you don't know how power actually functions. Being unseen is the sort of tricky skill that sometimes adds out to being as seen as possible so the masses can ignore you as granted.

Enter Letho, glaring into nothing and standing at the entryway leading to the drawing room, openly listening in on the target's grandiose delusions narrated to his supposedly-exclusive audience, outlined for Letho's convenience, while servants and security both just siphon their paths around him.

The servants are too cowed to dare think about looking twice so they don't draw his attention, the guards tell themselves he must be as thick as he looks so they can tell themselves at least they're doing better on that front but won't ever try to challenge him on it, and the nobles assume _someone_ there had to have hired him and so look right through him.

In his own experience, you just get away with it when you're big and scarred and hanging around people with money. Nobody'd even tried to meet his eyes, up until the kid, who'd definitely spotted the way he's been rubbing at them.

The scale forming the protective layer over his sclera was almost settled in to shed, the pale milkiness of lymph that'd been clouding his vision edges finally shrinking in breadth and leaving the too-tight shedding itch in its wake. Time like this, Letho would really like to hole up somewhere and wait out shedding his brille proper, but there's still a good half-ramble left of the target's master plan, by Letho's estimate, so he's staying.

Problem is, so's his shadow, hunched behind a pillar and watching him intently. The moppet's been sneaking from pillar to pillar to the closest one there is, so if this confrontation's happening, now's the time.

Right on cue, the boy peers around himself, ducks in behind the pillar, and whispers intently to Letho. "Are your eyes _magic_?"

"Nah," Letho says.

"What are they, then?" the boy asks.

Letho opts out of mentioning the mutagens. He's supposed to be laying low, and anyway, talking agony and death with kids generally only goes somewhere when they're at the stage where they can understand the full implications of their own mortality.

"Nature," Letho settles on.

"Well, I've never seen people with eyes like yours in nature," the boy confides.

"It's a big world out there, kid," Letho says. The target's _finally_ gotten to who he'd bribed, just as Letho has suspected-- maybe he can cut out early, after all. "Lots of things you ain't seen."

The boy's eyes get, somehow, even wider. You wouldn't think they could. He nods once, pauses, and then nods rapidly.

"Is it _nature_ magic?" he presses.

"Nah," Letho said, changing tack. "They're just cataracts."

The boy nods once, pauses, and this time furiously shakes it. "You changed it," he says, "that's how I know it's a lie."

"Good instinct," Letho praises.

The boy waits, clearly expecting him to go further. Letho doesn't.

The quiet doesn't hold long, but long enough for Letho to get the next name he needed to ditch the party. Finally.

Letho rubs at his eyes again, once. The itch is getting unbearable.

Eh, fuck it. Only that kid around, and from the dismissive way his handlers had brushed the boy off Letho doubts they'll even listen to him anyway.

"Here's something you _really_ ain't seen before," he warns, to stave off any attention-grabbing screaming, and then lets loose a massive, cracking yawn.

Letho can actually pop his brille scales out just by flexing. It's one of the harder tricks for a viper to do, but it's fundamentally the same muscles they use to control pupil dilation, and hey, if Letho's good at anything, it's utilizing muscle.

It stings, the shying-away sensitivity of a blister popped too soon, but it's bearable at this point, witcher healing already filling into the corners of the ache. From there it's the careful, arduous process of pulling them intact off his eyes with a slow hiss of breathing out.

Letho flicks the caps away off his fingertips. The boy is staring at him, still silent, though now his mouth's slack and open.

"No one will ever believe you," Letho informs the boy solemnly. Can't hurt to drive the point home.

Letho leaves him in the entry-way and bails on the party. He's already gotten the next names he needs.

* * *

After Geralt asks, Jaskier is quiet for a long moment, looking out into the distance.

"No," he finally says. "No, I wouldn't say you're the _first_ witcher I ever met."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry you just can't tell me letho "shoos the kids out of the room and waits for maybe two whole seconds before he figures it's k and slays their father figure" of gulet is overly concerned about the possibility he might traumatize young children!

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked my fic, please remember to leave kudos! 
> 
> (｡òᴗ-)7✧ i like seeing who liked my stuff.


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